


A Rumour in St. Petersburg

by caringis_notanadvantage



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Anastasia (1997) References, Angst, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Friends to Lovers, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Implied abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-27 04:13:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13872888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caringis_notanadvantage/pseuds/caringis_notanadvantage
Summary: Stuck in St. Petersburg in the middle of Stalin's Russia, Yuuri and Phichit are con-men trying to find their way out.Enter a rumour about the long-lost Prince Viktor Romanov, and a plan is taking form.1)Find look alike2) Go to Paris and convince the old Grandduke Yakov that his long lost grandson is alive3) Profit?What could possibly go wrong?The Anastasia-Yuri!!! on ice fusion that no one asked for.





	A Rumour in St. Petersburg

 

Outside the wind was hollowing as the unforgiving Russian winter swept over the city. The snow did little to qualm the rage of the citizens who were gathering outside the gates of the Winter Palace. Whilst their torches seemed dull and fragile, it was their anger that was truly blindingly in its sheer ferocity. 

 

It was St. Petersburg. In 1917. 

 

Outside the castle, a revolution was about to take place. But inside? A gala was taking place, in a ballroom filled with people who either didn’t know or understand the full extent of the situation they were in. 

 

Inside the halls of the palace sounds of laughter and music filtered the air. Every Duchess and Duke, every nobleman, and every Russian worth anything were present tonight. 

 

And what a night. 

 

The ballroom was a overwhelming sight with the women in dresses of every colour of the rainbow and diamonds glittering and catching the light ever so often. The ballroom was a overwhelming sight. For the evermore growing crowd outside the gate, the splendour of the evening would have been overpowering. Indeed, it might have made them shiver with the sheer gluttony of it all. The contrast between this room and the streets of Petersburg was startling to an almost sickening degree. The sight of it would not clench the fire of revolution; it would under solidify the foundation of it.

 

This thought, however, was not present in Yakov’s mind. As he sat on his chair, looking out across the room he was only filled with warmth and joy. To see his family, his friends in this setting was a sight to behold. 

 

Yet, none of that beauty was able to outshine the Tsarina Alexandra, his daugther, his _Sascha_. The apple of his eye. The girl he solemnly let go, so she could live in palaces that only belonged in dreams. To live with her _Nikki._ The Tsar. The man with whom she was dancing, no floating, across the floor with right now. 

 

None outshone her. 

 

And yet. 

 

There in the midst of the dancing couples stood a small boy with icy blue eyes and silvery hair, that could be mistaken for his late grandmother’s. Without ever trying, he always seemed catch the attention of his beloved grandfather. 

 

Little prince Victor. 

 

Only 10 years old, but strikingly handsome. Where the rest of his siblings were the spitting images of Alexandra and Nicolai, Viktor seemed to be the spitting image of his grandmother - something his siblings never stopped making fun of. Tonight was no different as Alexei and Olga were pulling the boy’s hair and seemingly taunting him. 

 

Yakov couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the frown on Viktor’s face gave him in an inkling. He knew that Olga and Alexei meant no harm in their teasing, but that the little boy was a sensitive soul, which and made it hard for him to maneuver court life. Perhaps that was why the old man took such interest in Viktor. 

 

“ _Dedusya_!” Came the small cry, as Yakov suddenly found his arms filled with the silver-haired boy who was frowning lightly. 

 

“ _Vitenka_ , what’s the matter? Are Olga and Alexei teasing you again?” Yakov felt rather than saw the boy nod, as he hid his face in the old man’s shoulder, “I’ve told you to not take notice of it, they are just making fun.” Yakov heard a tiny sniffle, which made his eyes widen. What had those two told him?

 

“But _Ded_ … They said that you were leaving for Paris, and I told them that you would never leave me, but they insisted.” _Oh…_ Yakov had forgot that he had yet to tell the boy about his plans of leaving. As Victor lifted his head and stared into Yakov’s eyes, he knew that he couldn’t hold of telling the truth any longer. 

 

“They are wrong, right? You are staying here with me!” The boy said it with such conviction that Yakov’s heart clenched once. He padded the boy on the back, to comfort him.

 

“I… No. They are right. I am too old for these cold winters. My bones ache.” The boy opened his mouth to protest, but Yakov stopped him with a finger on his lips, “My sweet _Vitenka_ , I have to leave. But I will always be here with you.” Tears were already gathering in Viktor’s eyes as Yakov reached into his pocket and found the gift that he had taken with him for this exact moment - the music box. 

 

He opened the box and out came the lullaby that Yakov had always sung for his grandchild when he was frightened. Yakov was a hard man, but his last grandchild had melted some of his cold heart. Perhaps because he reminded him so much of his late wife, his dear Katya, or perhaps because the boy was so sweet and tentative, and therefore needed protection in the often cruel and cold world of court. A world were ambition was the name of the game. 

 

“It’s our lullaby! _Far away, long ago,/ glowing dim as an ember,/,things my heart used to know,/ things it yearns to remember”_ The tiny voice almost whispered the lyrics, as Viktor smiled blindingly. His smile could light up a whole room with its almost heart-shape, and Yakov could feel a tug on his heartstrings. 

 

_He would miss that boy_.

 

“ _And a song someone sings,/once upon a December”_ They finished the song together in hushed voices. Huddled together in the corner, they had not yet realised that the citizens from outside had broken through the gates, nor did they know that soon the room would erupt in chaos. 

 

No, Yakov and Viktor was in their only little bubble, enjoying the last few moment of peace, before it would inevitably burst. 

 

“Yes, and I want you to keep this, so you don’t forget your old _Dedusya_ even though he is far away. Remember, I will meet you in Paris again. Your dear _Papa_ has already promised.” Nicolai has definitely not promised, but Yakov knew that he would not keep grandfather and grandson from each other for long. 

 

No one could keep them from each other. 

 

“In Paris, _Ded_?” The boy asked with wide eyes and an astonished smile. Paris was a fairytale. One that he had often heard stories of, but never seen. Paris almost seemed unreal for a boy who had never seen anything but the palaces of St. Petersburg and the flow of the Neva. 

 

“Yes, in Paris. But only if you behave and don’t get into trouble with-“ Yakov was cut of by the sudden commotion at the large doors at the front of the ball room. 

 

Stuck in a moment, Yakov and Viktor looked on as the enormous ballroom quickly filled with citizens dressed in long coats, whilst holding torches. For a moment, Yakov was frozen. In terror, yes; but also in sheer fascination at the contrast between the diamonds and carefully repaired coats. 

 

For a moment. Everything was frozen. 

 

Until.

 

A scream, and then another, and then another until they all piled together into a scream so loud, that it became static. 

 

Without catching the words, Yakov knew the meaning. Revolution. 

 

With newfound strength, the old man lifted his grandson from his lap, and ran towards the nearest exit with him in his arms. With no plan in mind, other than survival, he blindly ran through the door closest to them, and tried to make sense of the hallway he ended up in. 

 

“ _Dedusuya_? What-“ Yakov cut the boy off before he got any further.

 

“Shh, _Vitenka_. We have to hurry, I’ll explain later. I promise.” _If they survived._ As he ran down the unassuming hallway, Yakov could feel sweat starting to drip down his forehead, whilst his breath became laboured. The boy might be frail for a ten-year-old, but for a man who had never had to life a finger in his life, carrying the boy proved a strenuous task for Yakov. 

 

“But Papa and Mama?!” Viktor’s voice rose, as he realised that something was terribly wrong, “and Alexei and Olga?!” The though of leaving behind his family made the boy thrash, making Yakov almost drop him, as he turned left down an almost identical hallway. 

 

“Will manage on their own. And so will your siblings,” _I hope_ , Yakov thought to himself, “But right now we need to get out of here!” The problem with this was, however, that Yakov did not know the intricacies af the layout of the palace, which meant that they were stuck. 

 

“Psst! Here!” A small black haired boy, who looked distinctly _not_ Russian, stuck his head out of a door, whilst motioning to Yakov to come closer. Given the simple dress, Yakov deduced that they boy might be one of the residing servant’s children. 

 

“We can take the servants way out, it leads down to the river. Come!” The boy looked nervous, avoiding Yakov’s eyes, as he was wringing his hands.

 

“Okay,” Something about the boy reminded him of … Someone, who? Never mind, they had to get out, now. “Okay, yes. Show us the way!” The boy nodded and turned around, as Yakov walked through the door, he realised that it lead to yet another hallway, though this time the carpets and colourful paintings were stripped away to reveal a more subdued grey-colored wall. 

 

The servants’ quarters. 

 

The small boy was fast, and as Yakov tried to catch up, he felt his grip on Viktor slip. 

 

“ _Vit-_ You have to run on your own, I can’t carry you.” Yakov whispered to the boy, as he placed him on the ground with an apologetic look. The young Prince look back up at him with fearful eyes, but nodded determinedly, as he took Yakov’s hand, and took after the other boy. 

 

They caught up with boy, and followed him through what seemed an endless maze of halls, stairways and doors. Yakov lost his sense of direction, and started to fear that he had placed his trust in the wrong person, and that this boy was actually trying to trick them into being caught. 

 

Suddenly the boy stopped in front of a large doorway. 

 

“If you take this door, turn left, and then take the second door to the right you will reach the outside. From there you should be able to get away…” The boy once again avoided Yakov’s eyes as he stared at the carpet. Almost as an afterthought he added: “Your… Your Majesty.” The title made the old man smile. 

 

But only for a second. They still had to get out of here and not be caught.

  

“Yes. Thank you. Thank you.” Yakov nodded to the boy and dragged Viktor after him. The young prince mumbled a quiet “thank you” to the boy, and then they were off. As they hurried out of the door, the two royals failed to notice that the music box that Yakov had hurriedly stuffed into his pocket had fallen to the ground. They also failed to hear the call of the boy, as he tried to make them come back and get it. Before he turned back inside the castle, he quickly grabbed the beautiful box, and hid it in his pocket. They might come back, and then he could return. 

 

———————————————————-

 

It was a long night for Viktor and Yakov. 

 

Viktor with his frail build grew tired quickly, which forced Yakov to use his last bit of strength to carry the boy. In their gala clothes, without any jackets, hats or gloves to cover them, they were greeted by the unforgiving Russian winter, which did nothing to speed up the two royals trek in thesnow.

 

But reach the train station, they did. Tired, shocked and cold they walked across platform with the last train out of Petersburg. 

 

As the whistle blew, signalling the imminent departure of the train, Yakov clenched the tired boy’s hand as he found the last strength in his body, and started running towards the train. 

 

The platform was filled with people, and as Yakov was helped up onto the train, Viktor’s hand slipped out of his getting swallowed by the large crowd. Yakov tried to jump off the train, but was held back by the other passengers. 

 

An agonised scream of “Viktor!” could be heard across the platform. But no one took notice of it, nor did they seem to care about the small boy lying unconscious on the ground. 

 

As Yakov stood on the train staring out a the evermore distant St. Petersburg, the only thing he could think about was his promise. 

 

_I will meet you in Paris._

**Author's Note:**

> Aight... 
> 
> If you are interested in more, comment or subscribe. 
> 
> My plan is to update every sunday. 
> 
> I am borrowing heavily from both the 1997 film and the broadway musical, though I will try to make is different enough that ya'll will also be somewhat surprised.


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